


So We Can Get Jackets

by Fanhag102



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Motorcycles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 16:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanhag102/pseuds/Fanhag102
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it really a motorcycle gang if you drive a moped and all your members are old ladies and drag queens? </p><p>Derek still isn't sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So We Can Get Jackets

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this for Lily because she reeeeeeeaaally liked the idea. I'm sorry it's just useless fluff and there aren't even any other TW characters in it besides Stiles and Derek I think I just needed a break from everyone else and their terrible, terrible lives.

“What do you ride?”

The kid asking is pale and lanky, with ridiculous helmet hair and a pair of $2 gas station sunglasses propped at the tip of his nose. He’s leaning against the dorkiest looking moped Derek has ever seen, painted black with yellow highlights along the sides. 

The kid sees Derek staring at the monstrosity of a vehicle and nods his head, grinning proudly. 

“Looking at the Batmobile here? Yeah, she’s pretty gorgeous. She was my best friend’s first then he got this nice racing bike and I repainted her—got the helmet to match—“ he holds up a beat-up black helmet with a batman symbol on the front proudly. Derek can’t believe this guy is serious. “—and now she’s the Batmobile. I’ve got a car, too, but this is faster.”

Derek snorts in disbelief. How slow can the car possibly go that _this thing_ outstrips it? 

“Sooo, your bike, dude?”

Derek glances back at his bike, still not sure why this random kid just started talking to him at the gas station that he only stopped at because _he needed to buy gas_. 

“…It’s a Chevy.” 

“Sweet. Is that a custom paint job? When did you get her?” 

“She came like that, and I don’t remember.” 

“Awesome. I guess you’re new in town, because I haven’t seen you around before. My name is—“

Just then, a cop car turns the corner heading towards the gas station and the weird kid who is keeping Derek from buying his damn gas straightens up and gulps. He’s already got his dorky helmet on and one leg swinging over his moped before he manages to grunt,

“Shit! Uh, I gotta go. See you around, dude?”

Derek doesn’t have time to answer before the kid notices the cop car turning into the gas station and he starts the engine, shouting over it as he speeds away at 20 mph,

“Crap. Yeah, I’ll see you. Bye.” 

The man driving the cop car gets out just as the kid with the moped turns quickly into a small alley between two buildings up the street. The cop raises his hand as if he could reach out and catch him, then makes a fist and growls, “dammit!” under his breath. He climbs back in the car, slams the door, and drives off in the direction the batman-moped kid had gone. 

Derek stands dumbstruck by the idea of a police officer chasing a kid who looks barely 18 riding basically a bicycle with an engine. What could he have possibly done? He didn’t exactly look _dangerous_. 

He fills up his tank quickly and kicks his bike to life, feeling it roar underneath him. As he’s speeding away he tries to remember not to go to this particular gas station again—he really doesn’t want to be involved in anything that kid is involved in, especially since it somehow also involves the police. 

Unfortunately, this station has the cheapest gas in town… and it’s a small town.

“Hey, dude. Do you remember me?” 

Derek is amazed he manages to not groan aloud when the kid walks up to him, this time filling up the tank of a beat-up old blue jeep that definitely looks like it shouldn’t go over 30mph or it might start to fall apart. Apparently his silence is enough of an answer because the kid just barrels on without any confirmation. 

“I’m glad I ran into you again. I’m Stiles,” he grins, holding out his hand for Derek to shake. What kind of a name is Stiles? He doesn’t readily accept the hand, but Stiles doesn’t seem to take offense, just drops it and laughs. 

“Wow, you’ve really got that angry, intimidating scowling thing down to an art! That’s what I’ve been talking about! You’re perfect!”

“I’m sorry,” Derek replies slowly, though he isn’t really sorry at all, “what am I perfect for?” 

“My biker gang!” 

“Come again?” 

“I’m in this biker gang, The Sex Sparks—“ Derek chokes on his own tongue trying to hold back his laughter. This can’t be for real. “—and we’ve been trying to find new members lately, but like, intimidating ones, who actually look like real bikers. So, you, basically.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Derek replies, and he really doesn’t. He’s still trying to wrap his head around this kid being in a _gang_. How can he even be in a biker gang with that atrocity of a vehicle? Don’t you need an actual _motorcycle_ to be in a bike gang? It can’t just be a gang of mopeds, and if it is that’s the stupidest thing Derek has ever heard in his life. 

“Mrs. Cavendish said she would make us all custom jackets if we got an actual biker to join.”

“Mrs. Cavendish?” Derek asks, because he just has to.

“One of our members. Her husband died and she didn’t want to be that boring old widow with seventeen cats so she bought a Harley and joined the Sparks.”

“You have… an old lady in your biker gang?’ 

“Like half the gang is old ladies—though Ms. Louisa would kill you if she heard you saying that.”

“And the other half is…?” Derek doesn’t know why he keeps asking these questions; it’s like someone cut the brakes on his brain because as much as he’d like to just walk away his curiosity about this whole thing just keeps on getting stronger. 

“Drags queens, mostly. And me.”

Drag queens. Of course. How did he not see that coming? 

“Let me get this straight,” Derek begins slowly. “You are in a biker gang consisting of old ladies and drag queens and you all ride around town on your little Vespas causing enough trouble that the cops were after you the other day. And you want me to join because I look like a real scary biker and you’ll get jackets?”

The kid looks pleased. 

“That’s about right—except for that part about causing trouble and the cops. That didn’t have anything to do with the gang. Well, not directly.”

“Okay,” Derek nods, stepping onto his bike. “I’m out of here.” 

Just then, the cop car turns onto the street again, veering to the right and heading straight for the gas station. The kid curses and wow, he really has a problem with authority, and Derek should leave now. Like, right now. He should, really. He shouldn’t just stand around and watch as the kid struggles to get his old ass jeep to come to life as the cop car speeds up to obviously try and catch him. Apparently the engine isn’t starting, but it’s really not Derek’s problem. He watches the Stiles kid start looking around for possible escape routes, and Derek isn’t gonna do it. He’s not. 

Fuck. He hates himself.

“Kid. Hurry up,” he shouts, kicking his bike to life and nodding to the back. For a minute Stiles seems confused, then he smiles wide and nearly leaps across the back of Derek’s bike, hands coming around his torso just as the cop car skids to a halt. Derek peels off down the road with no idea where he’s headed or why he decided to aid a (most likely underage) criminal in escaping police custody. 

He’s probably going to wind up in jail. 

Oh well. Not like it would be the first time. 

It’s not the first time he’s had someone on the back of his bike either; or a guy for that matter, but it certainly had been awhile and Derek had forgotten how nice it was to feel a warm body pressing against yours as the ground sped by below your feet. And it was always nicer riding with someone who knew what to do. It was cute letting an inexperienced rider on every once in a while but they always held on too tight and they never relaxed enough to _enjoy_ the ride. 

Stiles isn’t like that. As soon as they find a flat road he loosens his grip on Derek’s waist enough to ease into the ride. Neither of them had time to put on helmets and the feel of the wind through his hair has Derek almost not regretting his spontaneous crime. 

“Take a left up there,” Stiles says just loud enough in his ear, pointing at a small access road that leads off into the woods. Derek doesn’t need to be told twice; that happens to be one of his favorite roads to drive down. It’s a shaded, narrow trek through the forest, winding and curving beside a river, and it can go on for miles if you know what you’re doing. 

“Stay to the right,” Stiles adds after they’ve been on the road for a few minutes. “And take a right at the fork.”

Derek almost stops, or at least wishes he could turn back and question how Stiles knows exactly where Derek probably would have gone anyway. There’s no way Stiles just coincidentally has them headed in that direction. He’s probably going to take them somewhere else, so Derek follows the directions and keeps waiting for more, but none come, except for a quiet,

“Follow it all the way.”

It’s always been a nice long drive up here, secluded and peaceful, far enough away from any main roads that you could get lost if you didn’t know where you were going. But Derek knew all too well. He kept driving until the road turned into gravel and the woods were thicker with vines and smaller creeks running through the trees. It was just like Derek remembered it. He stopped before they got to the end. 

“I said follow to the end,” Stiles objects playfully as he gets off the back of the bike and lets Derek put up the kickstand. 

“How did you know about this?” Derek interjects right away.

“What? You mean these back roads? I don’t know. My best friend and I used to come out here when we were kids, look for bugs and stuff. It’s beautiful out here.”

“No. How did you know this was my property?” 

The kid looks genuinely, 100% surprised by this statement. Derek doesn’t think he’s faking at all. 

“T—this is _your_ property?”

“My family owned it. And the house at the end—if it’s even still there.” 

“That’s _your_ house? Oh, my god, you’re Derek Hale!” 

Derek doesn’t respond to that. But Stiles apparently takes his silence as confirmation. 

“Shit! I was about to take you to go look at your fucking house! Your fucking burnt down house! I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—“

“It’s fine,” Derek interrupts him, because he’s really not one for pity.

“No, dude, that’s not _fine_! That’s so fucked up! I’m a horrible person!” 

“Seriously, just let it go,” Derek replies, shoving his hands in his pockets and ambling aimlessly down the road. Since he’s here he might as well see the damage. He’d been avoiding it since he came back, but now was as good a time as any. 

Stiles doesn’t try to follow him at first but then he jogs to catch up and walks beside Derek, throwing nervous glances his way every few seconds.

“What?” Derek finally asks. 

“Okay, this is gonna be super rude but like, the girl who burned your house down was found dead a few weeks later and I know I said we wanted a real biker but I didn’t mean like a really, really scary biker who has killed people and now we’re out in the woods all alone in the middle of nowhere and I don’t get that serial killer vibe from you but I thought it would be good to ask just in case you’re crazy honest about murdering people or something? Shit, I’m rambling, but I just thought I should tell you that I am most definitely not a serial killer even though it was my idea to come all the way out here, in case you were wondering. You have my word.”

Derek turns to look at him with an expression he hopes is more sassy judgment than amused exasperation, but he feels like it’s probably the latter. 

“I didn’t think you were a serial killer. And I didn’t kill—“ he still stumbles on the name, still can’t say it without clenching his fists and aching for something to punch, “—that girl...”

“Oh,” Stiles sighs, and visibly relaxes. 

“…My uncle did.”

Stiles freezes in the middle of the road and Derek smirks as he keeps on walking, making Stiles run to catch up a moment later. 

“You are like a real biker though.” Stiles finally manages to say. “Have you been to prison?”

Derek shrugs. 

“Once or twice.”

“But not for murder?”

He shakes his head.

“What for?”

“The first time for stealing bike parts from this douchebag mechanic and the second for a bar fight because this guy lost a finger or something. I don’t remember that one much. Kind of blurry. I just got out before I came back here.” 

“Where were you before?”

“New York.” Derek isn’t sure why he’s telling some random punk all this. He’s started to like the kid, though, for whatever strange reason. 

“What made you come back?” 

Derek pauses at this question. Literally stops in the middle of the road and listens to the sound of the wind through the trees, trying to figure out the answer. He starts walking again.

“I dunno. Just felt like the right time.” 

“Makes sense,” Stiles replies, even thought Derek doesn’t think it makes sense at all. 

“So are you going to tell me why you’re on the run from the cops or not?” Derek finally asks, because it doesn’t seem like the information is going to be given without it. 

“Oh, that,” Stiles replies, staring at the ground. “It’s not the cops—I mean technically it is but—yeah, it’s mostly just my dad.”

“You’re Sheriff Stilinski’s kid?”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at him in surprise and Derek just shrugs and says,

“It’s a small town.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles huffs out a half-laugh. “It is. That’s how he keeps finding me so easily. It’s way harder to lose him in the jeep but I was giving some of my friends a ride home today and it’s a little tough on the batmobile.” 

“Why are you trying to avoid him so badly?” 

“It’s stupid,” he murmurs, then sighs. “I told him I wouldn’t go to Stanford, even though I got in, and I was going to go to the local college instead. He got all pissed and said I was ‘wasting my potential’ and ‘being stubborn about money.’ He’s wrong, though! It’s not a money thing! I just want to stay closer to him in case something happens and all my friends are here and this is just… home, you know?” 

Derek doesn’t say anything, but he thinks about the familiar road they’re walking along and the smell of the woods, and the memories of here and he understands. Home is home. 

“I’ve been staying at my friend Scott’s place for a few days until things cool off. I know if he catches me he’s gonna try and guilt me into going to Stanford, so I’m...”

“Avoiding him?”

“Hey! Don’t make it sound so cowardly! This was a very good plan when I first came up with it.”

“I’m sure he’s just trying to do what’s best for you. Dad’s are like that.”

Stiles doesn’t have anything to say to that and they walk in silence for another minute, turning a corner suddenly and opening out on the entrance of Derek’s childhood home. Derek stops a ways from the entrance and Stiles stops just after him, both staring up at the burnt out ruins. 

It isn’t as bad as Derek’s memories. The front porch is mostly intact, and a surprising amount of the upstairs. Some walls look almost untouched where others are piles of rock and ash. Everything is covered in plant life though, from the basement to the chimney. The vines and moss don’t make the house look abandoned like Derek thought they would; it’s almost like the forest is trying it’s best to knit the place back together, filling in the cracks with flowers and covering the scorch marks with leaves. It’s nice to see the building full of life again, even if it may not be the way Derek remembers. 

“It was beautiful,” Stiles offers gently, bringing Derek back to the present. “Before, I mean. Like, a real life mansion, with the big porch and the long driveway, out in the middle of nowhere. I remember it from when I was a kid. It was a beautiful house.” 

Derek looks from Stiles to the shell of his former house and agrees in a soft voice,

“Yeah. It was.” 

He doesn’t say anything for another minute, and then it seems like almost a decade of avoiding this place and his past catches up to him in minutes and he makes a decision. 

“I guess I should start rebuilding it.” 

“What? Are you really?” 

“I didn’t think I would want anything to do with it, but now that I’m here…” he trails off, smiling and trying to remember the house like it was, like Stiles described and more. “You’re right. It was beautiful. Seems like a waste to just let it sit here and rot.” 

“So you’re staying?”

“Who said I was leaving?” Derek asks, turning around and heading back towards the bike. Stiles starts after him and replies with a sort of embarrassed quickness, 

“No one! You just, I don’t know, have this look like you don’t want to stay in one place for too long.” 

It’s funny, because Derek has always been the opposite of that. He likes having a place. He likes being home. 

It isn’t until they’re halfway back to the gas station that Stiles yells in Derek’s ear over the sound of the engine,

“If you’re staying here, does that mean you’ll join my gang?” 

Derek almost laughs. Instead he just yells back,

“Fine!”

 

“This is what you guys do when you get together?” Derek asks, sitting down next to the old lady with the straight hair and the thick glasses who’s settled onto the drag-queen-whose-name-Derek-can’t-pronounce’s couch, sipping on the hibiscus tea Stiles made her and knitting what looks like a very complicated hat. 

“Usually,” She chuckles. “We try to host at a different house every week so that no one is too burdened. Why? What did you think we did?” 

“I’m not sure, to be honest,” Derek confesses, taking a sip of his own chai and setting the cup back onto the immaculate coffee table. “I thought you might go to bars or something? Like a real gang?” 

“A gang? Oh, is that was that boy has been calling us? I think he’s the only one who says that. The rest of us think of it more as a book club with less books and more motorcycles.” 

“He said something about jackets,” Derek confesses sheepishly. 

“I did tell him if we got a real biker to join I would make us all jackets, and then he runs into you down at the Beacon gas station! What he did to convince you to come along I can’t imagine. He does have a way of making you fall for him though, doesn’t he?” 

She peers at Derek over her extra thick glasses and he looks away, telling himself that he is much too old to be getting embarrassed by a silly old lady knitting a firework red hat with orange sparkles along the rim implying things at him.

He winds up making eye contact with Stiles across the room, who pauses in his conversation with Dildora Grande to give Derek the goofiest, hugest grin he has ever seen followed by two thumbs up and Derek can’t think of a single place he would rather be than here. 

At the end of the “gang” meeting Derek and Stiles wind up leaving at the same time, heading out and towards their bikes, talking easily about the weird one-eyed cat that became freakishly attached to Derek. They’d parked just beside one another; Derek’s nice bike next to—he has to say it—The Batmobile, and they stand beside their machines for several minutes, saying goodbye as everyone else leaves and discussing various aspects of the group. 

“Did you talk to your dad?” Derek asks finally, when it seems like everyone has left. 

“Yeah,” Stiles nods. “I did.”

“And?” Derek asks, because Stiles doesn’t seem all that willing to go on.

“And you were right. He just wanted what was best for me. He said the decision was up to me in the end, but he was sending me to a tour-thing of Standford anyway, just so that I can see all my options.”

“And you’re actually going to go?”

He shrugs. “What can it hurt?”

“When is it?”

Stiles hesitates just a bit, something unsaid in his face as he replies,

“Over the summer. I might have to skip a meeting or two when I go.” 

“That’s good. I’m glad I don’t have to rescue you from possible incarceration anymore.”

“Oh! Yeah, about that. You might want to look out for my dad… he saw us leaving the gas station the other day and he might be a little bit protective of his only son. Especially when his only son is riding away on the back of some random stranger’s motorcycle. He may have written down your bike’s tags.” 

“Great.”

“Sorry about that,” Stiles says with an appropriately apologetic expression. 

Derek fiddles with the handles of his bike, staring at the way Stiles’ jeans curve around his waist. He’s going to regret this. He really is. 

But not right now.

“You wanna go for a ride?” He asks, tilting his chin towards his bike. 

Stiles’ eyes go wide and bright, and then a grin spreads across his cheeks and Derek is done for. He might as well turn himself in to Sheriff Stilinski now, because there’s no going back from here. 

He slings himself over his bike and kicks it to life just as Stiles’ hands clasp around his waist and he pulls himself tight to Derek’s back. They roar off down the road and all Derek can feel is the wind and the warmth of Stiles behind him. 

Maybe joining a gang isn’t the worst decision he’s ever made.

**Author's Note:**

> The firework red "hats" with orange sparkles along the rim Mrs. Cavendish is knitting are the jackets. They say "The Sex Sparks" in orange sequins. 
> 
> Stiles loves them.


End file.
